


Conversations

by DelphiPsmith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Conversations, Death Eaters, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Professors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith/pseuds/DelphiPsmith
Summary: He is coming.  I have done my best through the years to avoid thinking of this day, despite knowing it must eventually come.  Now he will be here in less than a month, and I am not ready.  Then again, would I ever have been?  And is he?
Kudos: 4





	Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2020/2021 [snapecase](http://snapecase.livejournal.com) over on LiveJournal. My favorite thing to do is find gaps in canon and fill them. This one just cried out for exploration.
> 
> Thanks to my spouse for the beta, despite not really understanding the whole concept of fanfic ;)

_~~~~~~~  
August 4, 1991  
Hogwarts_

"Severus. Thank you for coming."

Severus inclined his head briefly. Fawkes, on his usual perch beside the Headmaster's desk, fixed his beady eyes on Severus and gave a brief, sharp whistle as if sensing his vague antipathy.

Albus Dumbledore rose from his chair and began to pace the floor of his office, hands clasped behind his back. For once, the old wizard seemed to be having difficulty finding words. Petty as he knew it was, Severus savored the moment.

At last he spoke, still pacing. "This fall term, Severus, will present us with unusual challenges."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

"Two individuals will be coming to Hogwarts," Albus went on, ignoring his barb. "I shall require your assistance with both."

"Yes?" Severus strove for indifference, but wasn't sure he managed it. Merlin knew what the old man had on his mind - Severus would have given his own weight in Galleons to have no part in the old man's schemes, but he had given his word long ago and it was far too late to extricate himself now.

"I have hired Professor Quirinus Quirrell as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts master." Albus raised a hand as if to forestall any objections, though Severus had made none. "Yes, I know you are more than qualified, Severus. But a former Death Eater on staff has been difficult enough; having one actively engaged with the Dark Arts, even in a defensive capacity, would, I fear, be more than the Board of Governors could stomach."

So, his past still followed him, did it? No penance was enough, apparently, for the holier-than-thou Board of Governors. "And yet they admit Lucius Malfoy among their number?" he sneered.

Dumbledore sighed. "Even in the wizarding world, Galleons are a force to be reckoned with. Lucius' donations have been substantial, and of course he does not directly interact with students. And his son will be a First Year next autumn."

"Draco is the second person of whom you spoke, I presume?"

"No." Albus stopped and turned to face him, blue eyes above the half-moon glasses uncharacteristically devoid of twinkle. "Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts."

Severus kept his face impassive, but at the name he felt as though a knife had pierced his heart. For ten years he had carefully kept his mind away from the boy's very existence, let alone his progress. It had not been easy. Fortunately, being consistently denied the DADA position meant that he hadn't had to field questions such as, "But how _exactly_ did Harry Potter defeat Voldemort?" 

He cleared his throat. "You say you will require my assistance with both of them. How so?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You are aware of the rumours regarding Voldemort?"

"They are legion. To which one do you refer?" The most far-fetched, which Severus had found vastly amusing, had been reports of Voldemort hiding out as a wombat. _The Dark Marsupial_ somehow lacked menace.

"That he has stolen a corporeal form. A human form."

Severus snorted. "A tale to frighten children."

Albus shook his head gravely. "I fear not. And the rumours all seem to circle back to Professor Quirrell, or at least to the part of Albania in which he spent his sabbatical. If there is truth to them, we must discover it."

"So you bring him here? That seems…unwise." _Insane_ was perhaps more accurate, but Severus would reserve judgment on that point.

"Which is why I require your assistance. A borrowed form is difficult to sustain. We will lay a trap for him, with bait he will be unable to resist."

"Namely?"

"Nicolas Flamel has agreed to loan us the Philosopher's Stone."

"I see. And Potter?" He forced himself to say the name casually, pleased at how well he succeeded. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore wasn't the only one capable of duplicity. "What is it you require of me with respect to the boy?"

"He will be in danger, Severus, from the moment he leaves his aunt's home. He has been protected there by blood magic, but away from there he is vulnerable."

"You want me to watch over him," Severus said slowly. "Keep him safe." He turned away and went to the arched window, clasping his hands behind his back and gazing out at the summer night. "Why me? What have I done to deserve this…honour?"

"I merely ask you to keep your word, Severus. Many years ago, I said to you that if you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear. Do you remember?"

_Always._ Memories threatened to engulf him; ruthlessly, he suppressed them. "Surely there is more to this than simply honoring L-- his mother's sacrifice. She did no more than any mother would do for her child."

Albus was silent for a long moment. "When Voldemort returns -- you notice I do not say 'if' but 'when' -- we will need all our strength."

"And?"

"And Harry Potter may be the most powerful weapon we have."

"I see." Severus gave the old man a sharp look. "The Philosopher's Stone will not be the only bait here at Hogwarts, will it?"

"We are all tempted by different things, at different times in our lives," the Headmaster said evasively. "May I rely on your assistance?"

"Do I have a choice?" Severus said, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone.

"We always have a choice, Severus. It is our choices that show what we truly are."

_~~~~~~~  
August 11, 1991  
Hogwarts_

"They're doing it again," Minerva said in tones of deep disapproval, dropping a piece of parchment onto the dark oak table in the staffroom.

Severus raised his head from the proofs of his latest Potions paper and glanced at the parchment. The sheet bore a list of names (the first was Hannah Abbot) followed by four letters -- G, H, R, and S -- each with a pair of numbers. "Doing what?"

"Wagering," she said crossly. "On where the Sorting Hat will place the incoming students next month." 

Severus laid down his quill and picked up the betting sheet. "It seems a harmless enough pastime," he said, noting with satisfaction that his godson Draco had excellent odds for Slytherin House. Also, that there was no point betting on the latest Weasley ending up anywhere other than Gryffindor. Tediously predictable, Weasleys.

"Harmless it may be," she sniffed. "Nevertheless, it is highly undignified for staff and faculty to do such a thing. House placement is too significant a thing to treat so lightly. Besides, we should keep an open mind, not pre-judge their characters."

He scanned down the list. "I see Gryffindor is the favored choice for Harry Potter," he observed, carefully keeping his voice neutral. "Congratulations."

"Is he?" Minerva snatched the paper from his hands to look for herself. "Well, well. I hadn't noticed."

"If nothing else, that should improve your House's Quidditch chances considerably," he remarked, returning his attention to his paper. The editors had requested only minor changes, which was highly gratifying -- the _Internationale Zeitschrift der Tränke Profis_ was extremely highly regarded.

She brightened, as he'd known she would. Minerva did love her Quidditch. "True. James was a remarkable Seeker. If young Mr Potter is anything like his father he will certainly be an asset to the House team."

"If young Mr Potter is anything like his father, he'll be a mediocre student, a determined rule-breaker, an arrogant bully, and delighted to find himself famous," Severus said shortly, crossing out an awkward phrase and replacing it with another. 

"Nonsense. James was a bright lad, just a bit, er, high-spirited. A fine Gryffindor trait. And Lily was such a lovely girl." Minerva dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Sweet, talented, kind. No doubt he'll have inherited that, too."

"Even if he did, how can you be certain blood will tell, as they say? He was raised by Muggles, after all."

She shook her head. "Tsk, yes, and the worst sort of Muggles, too. I watched them all that day, before Hagrid brought young Harry to them. Foolish, close-minded, overindulgent, and not a particle of imagination. No one would guess that woman and Lily were related."

"Perhaps Mr Potter will take after his adoptive parents rather than his biological ones." Severus dipped his quill into the inkstand, then paused thoughtfully. "Or perhaps, to survive them, he has had to become cunning, resourceful, even deceptive. Perhaps -- dare one hope? -- the Hat will put him in Slytherin," he finished, unable to resist needling her a bit.

She raised an eyebrow. "Now that is fanciful, Severus."

"Who knows? As you say, we should not pre-judge." His quill scratched on the paper. "Then again, even the fabled Sorting Hat may be hesitant to disappoint Minerva McGonagall."

"If the Hat Sorts him into Gryffindor I shall be delighted, of course," she admitted. "It would be quite a coup to get the Boy Who Lived." She laughed, a bit shamefacedly. "I sound like Horace Slughorn, don't I? Still, I can't deny it. Most of all, though, it would warm my heart to have James' and Lily's son."

"You never could see a fault in any of your cubs," Severus grumbled, correcting 'Nachtschitten' to 'Nachtschatten' in two places. "Especially those two."

'I wouldn't say that," she said gently. "James could be thoughtless, and his need to impress Sirius led him to do things that were…unkind, at times." Startled, he raised his eyes to see her looking at him with affection and a touch of sadness. "He regretted it, and I think if he had lived, he would have told you so."

"Hmph," Severus said skeptically, bending his head over his pages once again.

Minerva sighed. "But yes, he and Lily were two of my favorites, I confess. Oh, I know we're not supposed to have favorites, but we are only human. And as long as no one knows, there's no harm done."

Severus thought of Draco, and how he hoped to have the boy under his wing where he could protect him. "I suppose not."

"I would treat him no differently than the others," she said briskly. "Though I would be very glad to have him where I can keep a close eye on him."

_~~~~~~~  
August 18, 1991  
Malfoy Manor_

Severus picked up the heavy crystal tumbler, swirled its amber contents admiringly, and took a judicious sip. The Malfoy cellars were legendary, and Lucius' dislike of Muggles fortunately did not extend to their whisky. "Very nice."

"It should be," Lucius said, settling into one of the large leather chairs and dropping one hand to caress the wolfhound drowsing at his feet. "The Macallan, and it's been aging since you and I started at Hogwarts." He yawned.

He even did that elegantly, Severus thought with a mix of envy and contempt. There had been a time when he had been impressed, even awed, by the Malfoy money and Pureblood lineage, and the utter confidence bred of both, but that time was long gone. Still, it was…useful to maintain contacts, as Dumbledore was constantly reminding him.

"So, I hear young Mr Potter will be an 'ickle Firstie' this year," Lucius went on, his bored tone belied by the bright spark of interest in his eyes.

"What of it?" Severus said coolly. 

"We have a bone to pick with that young man, do we not?" Lucius said silkily. "A small matter of defeat, disgrace, and dishonour."

"Dishonour?" What, precisely, did that mean to Lucius? How had he reconciled his lofty opinion of the Malfoy name with the depth of his genuflection to the Dark Lord? A pose of servility was only a pose as long as one had the option of dropping it.

"He destroyed our opportunity to put the world right, to take our proper place. He forced us to retrench and retreat. He is the reason, to be quite blunt, that we _lost_. What is that, if not dishonour?"

Severus shifted in his chair, the butter-soft leather creaking luxuriously. "What does it matter now, a decade later? The world has moved on."

Lucius' grey eyes widened. "What does it matter?" he repeated. "It matters now more than ever. When the Dark Lord returns--"

"And how do we know he will do that?" Severus broke in uneasily, wondering what his erstwhile friend had heard, or guessed. Albus too had said _when_ , not _if_. "What happened that night in Godric's Hollow cannot be undone." 

"Is that what you believe?" Lucius set down his glass and leaned forward. With his right hand he pulled up his other sleeve, exposing the dead-black serpent-and-skull borne by all Death Eaters. "This says otherwise, my friend, as I'm sure you yourself know."

Involuntarily Severus rubbed his forearm against his thigh. It was true, the Dark Mark remained: an itch that could never be scratched, a scab that must not be picked. "Perhaps," he acknowledged. A sinking sensation filled him as he considered that his old loyalties and his new might truly be on a collision course, with himself caught in the middle.

"There is no perhaps about it." Lucius sat back, shrugging his sleeve into place. "When the Dark Lord returns, he will expect our oaths to be honoured. I hope you do not intend to disappoint him."

Severus took another sip of whisky to give himself time to think. "I have always been a man of my word," he said finally.

"What do you know about young Potter?" Lucius said after a short silence, signet ring tapping rhythmically against his glass.

"He is a boy," Severus shrugged. "Much like any other boy, no doubt."

"But what of his abilities?" Lucius said impatiently. "Is he powerful?"

"At age eleven? Untrained, and raised in ignorance of his magical heritage? I doubt it."

"Good." Lucius took a swallow of whisky. "Then killing him will pose no challenge."

Severus had known Lucius for many years, had seen first-hand his arrogance, his ambition, his callousness, his sense of his own superiority. He had watched the man swear allegiance to the Dark Lord, knew he had willingly -- even eagerly -- turned his talents to bribery, coercion, and torture. But this...he had not thought him capable of this.

When he spoke there was (he hoped) no judgment in his tone, only idle curiosity. "Would you murder a child, Lucius? A mere boy, like your own son?"

"You dare to compare them? My Draco's blood is the purest there is," Lucius snapped. "Malfoys have been witches and wizards on both sides as far back as our history goes. Potter is the son of a Mudblood on his mother's side, a blood traitor on his father's. What value is there in a life such as that?"

"The same value as in any life, I suppose." It was one thing, he reflected, to recognize the need for force to bring about change; it was quite another to take pleasure in employing it to excess. 

Lucius curled his lip in a sneer. "You talk like the Burbage woman. One magical life is worth twenty Muggles."

Severus shrugged, though it was hard to maintain his pose of indifference. "Whatever his worth, or lack thereof, he is no threat to you, Lucius, or to anyone."

"I do not see him as a _threat_ ," Lucius said coldly. "That would imply that I fear him, and I assure you I do not."

"Then why give him another thought? Killing him" -- _the child she gave her life to save!_ \-- "would change nothing."

"Change?" Lucius laughed. "Change will come, regardless. The Dark Lord will see to that."

"Then why--?"

"Why?" Lucius voice rose in anger. "Because of him, I had to grovel before the Wizengamot. Because of him, I was forced to pretend that I had been Imperiused by others, made to act against my will. Because of him, I was made to kneel. A Malfoy, kneeling and suing for clemency!!" His eyes were chips of grey ice. "For that alone I consider myself justified in exacting retribution."

It was true that Lucius neither forgot nor forgave, a trait he shared with many of his fellow Death Eaters. It struck Severus suddenly how small-minded it was, this inability to let any slight go unavenged, no matter how trivial. Lucius dressed it up as honour, but in truth it was nothing more than petty vindictiveness. Severus made one last effort, though he knew now it was hopeless. "Lucius, this is beneath you to lavish such energy on a pointless vendetta."

"We have been denied our rightful place, and for that, we will have our revenge," Lucius hissed, his face twisted in fury. "Make no mistake about that. You will be in a position to help us achieve it; I trust you will exert yourself on our behalf?"

Malice, contempt, brutality, and a cold-blooded desire for power. This was the ideal to which he had once pledged himself? Severus felt a wave of self-disgust and strove to keep it from showing on his face.

"And I trust _you_ will remember that, if the Dark Lord returns, I shall be far more valuable to him as a Hogwarts teacher than as a fugitive from Ministry justice," he said coldly. "I am not such a fool as to throw away my position, Lucius, simply to satisfy your ill-considered lust for vengeance." He set down his tumbler with a thump on the heavy oak table. "I will bid you good night."

The front door closed behind him and the summer night was warm, but inside he felt cold. So cold.

_~~~~~~~  
August 25, 1991  
The Hummingbird Tea Shop_

Had anyone suggested that he was frequenting Muggle cafes and tea shops in the neighborhood of Little Whinging in the hopes of encountering Petunia Dursley, Severus would have emphatically denied it. But the truth was that the conversations he had had over the past week had started a flock of questions that would not be put to rest. Minerva had called them "the worst sort of Muggles," while Albus had stated clearly that his aunt's home was where Potter was safest. What, he wondered, did the aunt herself think? 

Exactly _why_ he needed to know this, he did not care to think.

When at last he saw her it was like looking at a distorted photograph. More than twenty-five years had passed since he had seen Lily's sister, and she had not aged well. Her hair was still gold, but it had the flatness of colour achieved through artifice, not nature, while her face was pale, sharp, self-satisfied without being happy. He remembered her childish face twisted in anger (or had it been pain?) as she shouted insults at her sister, at himself. He felt a pang of grief: how young they had once been, all of them! Too young to know how cruel the world could be.

But he was not here to brood over lost youth, his own or anyone else's. He was here to learn about Harry Potter.

Petunia was with another woman, a highly-polished society type, and as the two of them approached the corner where he sat Severus raised his copy of the _Daily Mail_ in front of his face and cast a quick glamour to alter his appearance. The chances that she would recognize him were small, but he could not take the risk.

"…marks are poor, but I blame the teachers," Petunia was saying as the two women took seats at a nearby table. "Dudders is so bright, and of course they simply aren't trying hard enough to keep him interested."

"Mmm, well, yes," said the other woman. "Tea, please," she said to the tired-looking waitress in a bored tone. " _Boiling_ water, please. And do be sure to warm the pot." She turned her attention back to Petunia. "So you have only the one child, then? I thought Pandora mentioned another boy."

Petunia's face changed. "Harry," she said disgustedly. "My dead sister's child. She and her worthless husband were killed in, er, an auto accident when the boy was just a year old. Driving drunk, they said."

Behind his newspaper Severus smirked at Petunia's characterization of James Potter, then frowned as her words sank in. An auto accident? He wouldn't have expected mention of the Dark Lord to a Muggle, naturally, but to place the blame on the victims...

"And you took him in, despite his bad blood?" said her companion sympathetically. "I do hope he's suitably grateful."

"One would think so, Antonia," Petunia sniffed. "But no, not in the slightest. There he is, an orphan, homeless if it weren't for our kindness and generosity. And how does he repay us?" Thin nostrils flared. "With obstinacy, and impudence, and…and…tricks!"

"Tricks?" Antonia paused as the waitress set down two pots of tea, lemon, milk, sugar, and a plate of biscuits. "Magic tricks?"

"Magic?" Petunia said sharply. "Why would you say that? There's no such thing as magic!"

Antonia added milk and lemon to her tea. "Oh no, I was thinking of card tricks. Disappearing handkerchiefs. Sleight of hand."

Petunia flushed. "I can assure you that the Dursley household has nothing to with magic of any kind, sleight of hand or…or otherwise!" she said firmly. "Vernon would put a stop to _that_ , I can tell you."

In her voice, Severus heard not only denial but fear. Was it possible, he wondered, that the Potter boy was being raised with no knowledge of his own history, simply because Petunia Dursley was afraid of What People Would Say? Or was she taking out on the boy her own longstanding envy at being denied magic herself?

"You do have to be firm with poor relations, Petunia," Antonia said, shaking her head. "Otherwise they walk all over you. My aunt took in a distant cousin, Elsie, and--"

"We do our best to keep his expectations low," Petunia agreed. "He does all the cooking and cleaning, and sleeps in the cupboard under the stairs. Vernon says it’s best he remembers his place."

"Very sensible," Antonia said approvingly. "After all, he is living on charity." By her tone of voice, the last three words might as well have been 'a lazy, useless burden.'

Severus closed his eyes as memories replayed themselves in his mind: Free school meals in his primary school days, and the equally free taunting of his schoolfellows for that and his threadbare clothes. His mother queuing at the food bank, trying to hold her head high despite the humiliation. A casual backhanded slap and a drunken voice slurring, 'You mind your place, boy." Rage flooded him, his hands crumpling the edges of the paper.

"And it's not as if he's our son. Dudders has to be our first priority."

Had Petunia forgotten her own parents' unequal treatment of herself and her sister, and how much that had hurt? Could she not see that mistreating the Potter boy was compounding, not assuaging, her unhappiness? And what in Merlin's name would be the effect of this abuse on the boy? A cold chill passed over Severus as the full import of the thought struck him. He himself had been vulnerable to the temptations of Dark Magic in no small part because of how alone and powerless he had been made to feel as a child -- what if the same were to happen to Harry Potter? Would he be tempted? Had Dumbledore considered the possibility that his "weapon" might turn on him, on all of them?

"Of course, my dear, of course! Now, tell me about Smeltings…"

Slowly Severus folded his paper and rose from the table, uneasy in mind and disturbed in spirit.

_~~~~~~~_  
_September 1, 1991_  
_Hogwarts_

Severus sat at the High Table, a glass of wine untouched before him. To his left, Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet and Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. To his right was Quirinus Quirrell, wittering nervously on about something or other. Severus paid none of them any mind; all his attention was on the skinny, black-haired boy grinning happily at his new fellow Gryffindors and helping himself to more sausages and chips. 

As if sensing he was the focus of someone's attention the boy looked up towards the High Table. For a brief moment Severus looked straight into eyes green as emeralds, and a sharp, hot pain shot through his chest. Slowly, his gaze still fixed on Severus, the boy raised a hand to finger the thin, lighting-shaped scar on his forehead.

What would his future be? Severus wondered. Dumbledore saw the boy as a weapon, Minerva as the offspring of her favorite cubs, Lucius as an enemy, his aunt as a threat and a burden. Would he be allowed to be simply a boy, with his own wishes and talents and feelings? 

Would anyone see him as just Harry?


End file.
